Harry
Detective Harry Hunter despised the man sitting in the wheelchair across from where he stood. Whenever he looked at the murdering freak, he pictured his daughter’s ashen face, the night her life nearly ended. Thank God for pepper spray and the countless hours of self-defense training courses he’d made her take. He curled his hand around the paper cup of coffee he held, imagining for a moment the cup was the guy’s neck. What kept him from squeezing was how much of a waste of coffee that would be. He loved the stuff. Couldn’t get enough.
This evening, his coffee had long since lost any warmth, however, that didn’t stop him from drinking it. He liked his coffee only one way. Black. And usually two fisted. Right now, he had settled for vending machine coffee the prison provided to visitors.
“I didn’t kill Chelsea Rand.”
Last summer Lance Wooley, aka Cody Pollard, had been arrested and charged with the murder of two women, one of whom was Cynthia Hardin, Harry’s future son-in-law’s ex-wife. The police were unable to pin the demise of another victim on him too, and an unsolved death from a year and a half ago.
Harry groaned silently. He sipped his coffee to avoid responding the way he wanted. Lance stared at the green cinder block wall over Harry’s left shoulder. Several times he resisted the urge to check behind him. What was so interesting about a damn wall?
Lance methodically smoothed the top of his jumpsuit pant legs over and over. The rasping sound made Harry’s eye twitch. He thought about telling him to quit it but didn’t want to give Lance any sort of leverage. This seemed a small thing, except the serial murderer was crafty as shit.
“You ought to be careful,” Harry warned, eyeing Lance’s hands.
“I said I didn’t take Chelsea Rand’s life. She was a friend.”
Harry snorted. “I hate to see how you treat your enemies. But I was referring to your OCD problem. Might give yourself sores.”
“I knew what you meant, Detective.”
Harry’s jaw tightened and he covered his dislike of the dirt bag calling him detective by drinking his coffee. The guy’s too cool demeanor gave him a Hannibal Lecter vibe.
Lance settled his hands in his lap. He looked frailer than the last time Harry visited him in prison. He was housed in the only maximum security prison, two hours north of Webster, that could accommodate the wheelchair bound killer. But it was not nearly far enough away from Harry’s daughter Grace. She would have been one of his murder victims if she hadn’t fought her way free.
Harry didn’t care if Lance gave himself sores. Hey, maybe he’d get gangrene and have to have his legs amputated. Wouldn’t that be a pity? “Why don’t you tell me who killed her if it wasn’t you?”
Lance chuckled under his breath. “Why, would it lessen my sentence?”
“Could help during your sentencing hearing next week. Maybe remove one of the life sentences.”
“No thank you. There’s no difference between two or three life sentences.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I will, and I don’t expect any leniency from Judge Merlow.”
“I believe you didn’t kill Chelsea, but how about for the sake of her parents you tell me what you know.”
Lance remained silent, staring at his cuffed hands in his lap. He balled his hands into fists. Harry saw how much the guy wanted to rub the top of his thighs. Perhaps he recognized that if he continued the compulsion, even though he couldn’t feel it, he would wind up with abrasions or worse. Of course, his legs were useless thanks to the spine shot courtesy of Harry’s bullet.
“Will you be at the hearing, Detective?”
“The offer stands until tomorrow.”
“Offer? I don’t believe you presented an offer. You’re trying to blow smoke up my ass in a sloppy attempt at getting me to confess as to her murderer. I assure you, I won’t be bought.”
Harry glared at Lance, then without taking his eyes off him, he went over and knocked on the interrogation room door. “We’re done here.” The lock clicked and the door creaked open.
“Have yourself a nice day,” Harry called over his shoulder on the way out.
“Say hello to Grace for me.”
A cold prickle traveled up the back of his neck.
Grace is home safe, he told himself.
Harry stepped awkwardly from the room. He hated hearing his daughter’s name come out of Lance’s mouth. On autopilot, he waited for the doors between cell blocks to open and close behind him. He reached the security checkpoint, collected his gun, and signed himself out. He couldn’t remember if anyone spoke to him on the way out. If they had, he must have given the correct responses.
Harry sat in his shitty tan car, taking deep breaths with his eyes shut. Grace was his only child and to think that psycho could have taken her from him. Man, Lance knew how to make him nuts.
He started his Buick and blasted the defrost. It had snowed since he’d arrived at the prison and the temperature had dropped as well. He turned on the wipers. The blades scraped over the iced-up windshield. Chunks broke off and slid down the glass.
Ten minutes later, Harry was on the freeway headed home. Lance had dumped one of his victims’ bodies along this road, a few miles ahead. On the final stretch leading into town, Harry braced himself. Her body had lay in the roadside ravine just over the hill, beneath the bridge. He pictured how her blonde and pink hair looked plastered to her head from the creek, and the holes in her nylons, her eyes staring at nothing.
Harry came out of the last curve before the creek. The steel guiderails came into view. His headlights glinted off the reflectors placed at every other post. No matter how many times he passed this spot his heart hollowed out. He rubbed the center of his chest and pulled his necktie loose. He pressed the gas pedal harder and gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white. He couldn’t get past this spot fast enough.
Snow swirled around, offering a limited view of the road. His car fishtailed left and right. Harry’s police driver’s training course taught him how to counteract a spin, except his tires hit another patch of ice. He skidded sideways, and the rear-end of his Buick bumped along the guardrail, throwing sparks. He reached the end of the safety measure. The back tires jumped the curb. He slammed on the brakes, to no avail, and finally stopped perpendicular to the two-lane road. He breathed for the first time since spinning out of control. Although it was only about 7:30 in the evening, with the weather reports, not many people were liable to be out on the roads tonight.
Harry gave the engine a little gas but the tires only spun in place. Snow and slush splattered from the wheel wells. Dammit! Natalie was going to be upset. He promised to be home for dinner at 7:30 and he was already late.
Being a seasoned cop, he kept kitty litter and a shovel in the trunk for possibilities like this. Harry zipped his coat up higher and put on his gloves and knit hat he had in the center console.
Grabbing his flashlight, he exited his car and walked around to the trunk.
“Sonofa…” The left rear tire was completely flat and the front one wasn’t far behind. Harry groaned and fished his phone from his pocket. He called the station first since, after all, this had happened on official police business.
He cursed and dialed Natalie.
“Hello, and I hope you’re not calling to tell me you’re going to be late. I figure that—”
“I was in an accident.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Got a couple flats.”
“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“The ravine.” He didn’t bother explaining which one, she knew. Everybody knew.
“Wait, are you in the ravine?”
Harry sighed. “No, but damn near.”
“Stay by the car. I’ll come get you.”
Natalie ended the call abruptly after he heard the call waiting beep. He stood with his back leaning against his car and waited until his toes became numb.
Headlights peeked around the bend, then he saw the red and blue strobes flashing without the accompanying siren. Harry wondered if the rookie Officer Ellison that he’d spoken to had called McGregor’s Towing. Natalie had inherited the company from her late ex-husband. That had been a surprise since he’d left her ten years earlier. Turned out they were never divorced. She had worked dispatch for him while they were together. She also knew how to drive those rigs.
Officer Ryan Rudy parked his cruiser along the curb behind Harry’s car. The younger uniformed cop exited his vehicle and clicked on a flashlight. “Spun out some black ice, eh?”
“Yeah,” Harry grumbled, heading to have a better look at the back end now that Rudy had arrived.
Rudy whistled. “What did you hit?”
“Guardrail.”
A tow truck with a yellow light bar on the roof pulled up. Sure enough, Natalie was behind the wheel. She rolled down the window. “I’ve always told you that you drive too fast.”
“I don’t listen, do I?”
She smirked. “Not in the least.”
Ellison arrived at the scene in another patrol car to help block the traffic. Not that there was any.
Natalie maneuvered the rig into position and climbed out. Harry noted that her hair had grown out a bit since the hack job over the past summer and the ends stuck out the bottom of her hunter orange knit hat. The heavy coat and overalls hid her slender body, but protected her from the elements, and had reflective stripes.
She walked past him, keeping her head forward, yet her eyes stayed on him. Yeah, she was pissed. Probably not how she wanted to spend her fiftieth birthday. Man, he should have listened to his gut and gone to see Lance tomorrow. Except, like a jackass, he couldn’t wait. Natalie raised the flat bed.
“Thought you weren’t working tonight?” Rudy said behind him.
“Shouldn’t have,” Harry mumbled.
Chains clanked and he looked in Natalie’s direction. She attached the hooks to his front end then went to the control levers. The winch whirred and pulled Harry’s car onto the truck. He marveled at his girlfriend. How many women knew their way around a tow truck? Her strength and independence turned him on. His late wife, Annie, wasn’t mechanically inclined. Natalie wasn’t the type of gal that minded less than glamorous work. She and Annie were opposites and it was more than likely the reason they had been best friends. Harry shut down his errant thoughts and watched Natalie. He couldn’t wait to get her home and out of that heavy winter suit, knowing what was underneath.
Natalie pulled the tow truck parallel to the side of the road and honked.
Rudy and Ellison waved to him as they got into their vehicles.
Harry glanced over the side of the bridge. Nothing but blackness looked back at him. He shone his black flashlight into the ravine. Snow slid off a branch and nothing else happened.
The horn honked again.
“I’m coming!” He told himself more than once that nothing was wrong, no dead women were at the bottom of the ravine, waiting to be found.
Harry hopped into the truck.
“That girl’s death still haunts you,” Natalie said.
Harry rubbed his jawline. “They all still haunt me.”
“All who?”
“Every single murder, whether their case was solved or not.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Can we just get out of here? I don’t want to think anymore tonight.”
They rode in silence to her company’s garage. He’d have the car fixed in the morning.
“Grace called, she asked if I’d watch Brayden Friday night while she and Mikey went to a concert.”
“Will he be spending the night?”
“I think so, that was my impression.”
“Fine,” he groaned. “Probably best if they’re going to be out gallivanting all night.”
Natalie chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Why can’t you just admit you like spending time with Mikey’s kid?”
Harry sighed heavily. Brayden was his daughter’s soon-to-be stepson. He also suspected the ten-year-old was the wisest person he knew. “If they’re going out late, why not let him stay instead of waking him up to take him home?”
“Will you just admit he’s a great kid?”
Harry didn’t speak for a long moment.
“You have fun playing chess with him.”
“He beats me at chess.”
“He’s smarter than you.”
Harry’s laughter snuck up on him.